


Family Reunion

by Mistress_of_Squirrels



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drinking & Talking, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:24:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3786514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_Squirrels/pseuds/Mistress_of_Squirrels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adaar receives word that her former company, the Valo-kas, are coming to Skyhold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank-you to Sweeteaholic for suggesting the title!

Inquisitor Adaar was still going over the details of the latest war table meeting as she climbed the steps to her private quarters. It had been a long day, as her days often were since the formation of the Inquisition, and she was grateful for it's end. Even so, Corypheus and the threat he posed with his insane ambition to godhood were never far from her thoughts, her mind never truly free from the burden of figuring out the next step in defeating the ancient magister.

“You keep going like that, Kadan, and you're going to burn out.”

Unsurprised that her lover was already waiting for her, Adaar looked up to find the Iron Bull perched on the side of her bed. She smiled, the crease between her brows fading as her face relaxed from its worried frown. “Trying to get into my head, Bull? You're starting to sound like Cole.”

The big qunari snorted. “That's not funny. And I don't need to be inside your head when your face will just tell me everything, anyway. Remember,” he added in a softer tone. “In here, you're not the inquisitor.”

“I know,” Adaar sighed. “I just hate doing nothing while that asshole is still out there. You've seen what he does to people – “

Bull cut her off before she could continue. “Kadan. Those people? You can't help them if you crack.” Adaar's eyes flashed with anger at the implication and Bull shook his head. “Look, you're one of the strongest people I know. I'm not arguing that. But no one can deal with this shit every day without it all adding up. Let it go now and then, or it's gonna bury you.”

Adaar released a slow breath and nodded, managing a weak grin. “That's what I have you for.”

Bull stood and crossed the room to take her in his arms. “Always.”

Closing her eyes, Adaar leaned against her lover. She took a few moments to simply take him in, allowing his scent, the weight of his embrace, the rough scrape of stubble against her cheek, to fill her senses and soothe the last of her tension away. Bull said nothing, aware as ever of her state of mind, content to let her take what strength she needed.

After several minutes passed, Adaar opened her eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I'm tired, Bull. Take me to bed?”

Iron Bull cocked his head in thought, mouth quirked as he regarded her. Only the twinkle in his single eye betrayed his behavior for the teasing it was.

Adaar smacked his arm and twisted away. “You ass!” she laughed. “Give me a minute to get ready.”

When her lover grunted his agreement, she shed her high-collared jacket and began unplaiting the thick braid of her hair, combing her fingers through the mass until it fell in loose waves around her shoulders. She took her hairbrush from the dresser and sat down on the edge of the bed. Without warning, Bull reached over and plucked the brush from her hand, gesturing with it for her to turn around. She did so, almost eagerly, and he began running the brush through her hair in long, careful passes.

Bull had developed something of a fascination with her hair, especially after making the discovery that Adaar practically melted, malleable as clay in his hands, after only a few strokes with a brush. She let out a soft sigh of pleasure, tipping her head back as her lover maneuvered the brush around her horns. She felt a slight tug as Bull gathered a handful, letting the silky tendrils slide through his fingers before taking them back up again.

“Hair envy,” she murmured over her shoulder, eyes heavy and half-lidded as any cat. She lifted her chin in the direction of his own shorn head. “That's why you can't leave it alone.”

The movements of the brush stilled, and Bull nudged her back around with one large hand before resuming. “This works better when you hold still.”

“Admit it, you're jealous,” Adaar teased.

“Oh, I'm just green with it,” Bull agreed pleasantly. “About the same shade as all the crap that was in your hair after that spider.”

A grimace of distaste crossed her features at the memory. It had taken several washings to remove the ichor from her hair after that fight, while a bucket of water had done the job just fine for him.“You were the one that made it explode,” she accused, seeing his point but unwilling to concede.

“Yeah, they're bad for that. Hard to get a clean kill when they're just legs and guts.”

“Legs and guts?” Adaar laughed. “You certainly know the way to a woman's heart.”

“Yeah...I'm usually more interested in what's below that. I'm not the soft and flowery type, Kadan.” He leaned in, so close she could feel the heat of his breath as it puffed against her neck, and licked the shell of her ear. “The only heart I've ever gave a damn about is yours.”

Adaar shivered when the graze of his teeth replaced his tongue, even as her pulse quickened at that simple statement. Their relationship would never be one of the romances Cassandra sighed over, but coming from Bull, those words were practically love poetry. She turned to face him, framing her lover's face between her hands and brought her lips to his. The kiss was chaste, gentle; a direct contrast to the hot flare of desire uncoiling within her. Bull's fingers clamped around her hips with bruising force, lifting her until until she was straddling his lap. One massive hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose the long column of her throat. He sucked at the sensitive area beneath her jaw, sliding his free hand along the curve of her waist until it settled in the small of her back.

Gasping at the sting of a bite, Adaar raked her nails down broad shoulders, silently urging her lover on as her world narrowed to the different sensations of his lips, his teeth, his tongue. She really couldn't find adequate praise for his talented mouth. Were she the religious sort, she'd probably need the services of a confessor for that alone – it was positively sinful.

With a grunt, Bull bucked beneath her and Adaar gave a startled cry as his hard length, still trapped behind the fabric of his trousers, brushed her own sodden heat. She ground down against him, breathing a heady giggle when her lover let out a low groan at the contact. She held his gaze and swiveled her hips again, slower this time, deliberate. It was a move calculated to provoke a response, and Adaar was not disappointed.

The Iron Bull twisted, rolling her with him until she was pinned beneath his weight. She squirmed, pleased to find she still had some freedom when she managed to wrap a leg around his waist. Digging her heel into the small of his back, Adaar lifted her hips, eager for more friction. Her lover settled firmly atop her and she stilled, peering up at him, face flushed.

“I know what you're doing, Kadan.”

“It appears to be working,” Adaar replied, sending her lover a cheeky grin.

Bull smirked, a world of promise in the simple quirk of his mouth. “We'll see.”

Violet eyes darkened in desire, pupils blown wide, as Adaar bit her lip in anticipation. She'd pay for her sass, just as she had every time before, but once the debt was settled...

A sharp knock rattled the door downstairs, and Adaar froze. “Fuck!”

“Ignore it,” Bull gowled in her ear.

Several seconds passed in silence before a second knock came from below, followed by Josephine's timid, “Inquisitor? A moment, please?”

Groaning in frustration, Bull rolled off of her and waved irritably toward the stairs. “Looks like you better get that.”

Adaar mumbled a curse and snatched up her jacket, clumsily doing up just enough of the buttons to be presentable. “Just a minute, Josephine,” she called. “Be right down.” She turned to her lover, once more the inquisitor, and hissed, “Don't go anywhere. We're finishing this.”

“Oh, that we are.”

Ignoring the way his chuckle made her stomach flip-flop, Adaar hurried down the stairs and swung the door open to find her ambassador nervously tapping a finger on a folded sheet of paper.

“Inquisitor! I know it's late, and I do apologize for the...” The Antivan's words faltered as she took in the sight of Adaar's rumpled clothing, the tangled mess of her white hair, and the dark bloom of fresh lovebites peeking out through the unbuttoned collar of her shirt. “Oh, sweet Andraste,” she murmured dropping her gaze as her face blushed scarlet.

The inquisitor tamped down her rising impatience and forced a smile. “Is there something I can help you with, Josephine?” she asked, far more kindly than she felt the situation warranted. Still, it was almost impossible to be angry with Josephine, no matter how terrible the woman's timing might be, and some of her irritation faded in the wake of the ambassador's obvious discomfort.

Ever the diplomat, Josephine cleared her throat and drew in a deep breath. “As I was saying, I apologize for the lateness of the hour, and the... ah, interruption.” She added something beneath her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'yet again' before continuing. “A letter arrived, for you personally, from your former company. Normally, I would leave this until morning, but as I understand it, the messenger carrying it was already delayed several days before reaching Skyhold. I thought it best to bring it to your attention immediately, in light of recent events...”

Adaar nodded, lips pressed into a tight line as she accepted the letter from the ambassador. “I see,” she said quietly. “Thank you, Josephine.”

“It is no trouble, Inquisitor. Have a good night.” The Antivan turned to leave and hesitated, looking over her shoulder at Adaar. “I hope it bears happier tidings than the last,” she said gently.

Adaar let out a heavy sigh and offered a tiny smile. “You and me both, Josephine. You and me both. Goodnight.”

As soon as the other woman was gone, Adaar shut the door and returned to where Bull was waiting on the bed. He sat up when she appeared, scooting over to make room for her. He gestured to the folded square of paper she had clenched in her hands. “You gonna open it, Kadan?”

“You heard?”

“Heard enough. No reason to think it's anything bad.”

Adaar nodded. He was right, of course. Shokrakar wrote regularly, and most of her letters were nothing more than the older woman grousing about yet another of Kaariss' poems, or a job that could have gone better. In truth, Adaar suspected it was really just her former leader's way of keeping an eye on her. Shokrakar's last message, thbough, only a few short months ago, had been to inform her of the deaths of three of their company, and that was all Adaar could think of as she stared down at the unopened letter, tendrils of cold dread creeping through her.

A warm hand settled heavy on her shoulder, and Adaar turned to find her lover watching her. “Even if it is bad news – and you don't know it is –“ Bull added pointedly. “Not reading it isn't going to make it go away.”

“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “I'm being ridiculous.”

Bull shrugged. “A little, but we all do silly shit to avoid things we don't want to see or hear. Doesn't really work, but we do it. Take your time, Kadan. I'm here when you're ready.”

Bolstered by his unwavering support, Adaar made her decision. She flipped the letter over and broke the wax seal with a thumbnail. Her eyes scanned the words as her heart raced.

_Adaar,_   
_No one's tried to kill us for a while, so that's good. No one's been hiring us either, and that's not. All the good jobs are going to the Inquisition. How are we supposed to get paid if you keep taking all the work? It's bad for business, Adaar, so we're coming there. Everyone else is. You can find us something, right? Of course you can. The humans put you in charge. See you soon._

_Shokrakar_   
_P.S. I'm not wearing the eyeball armor._   
_P.P.S. We still haven't been paid. Do something about that._

Relief swept through her and Adaar fell back on the bed, laughing at her own foolishness.

“Good news, I take it?” Bull asked.  
Adaar nodded, folding her arms behind her head. “Shokrakar claims the Inquisition is taking all the work, so she's bringing the Valo-kas here.”

“So nothing to worry about.”

“Aside from half a dozen Tal-Vashoth showing up on Skyhold's doorstep? No.” Adaar rolled to her side, propping her head up with a hand. She studied Bull for a few moments, expression serious. “Are you going to be alright with this, Bull?”

Bull took her free hand and pulled her up so she was sitting beside him. “What, because they're Tal-Vashoth?”

“Yes.”

The Iron Bull sighed. “I thought we talked about this already. A year ago? Yeah, it probably would have. Now...well, it's not like I have a lot of room to be pointing fingers. I'm not going to go starting shit with your guys, Kadan. They aren't bandits or raiders, so I don't have a problem with them.”

“I didn't think you'd start anything with them,”Adaar began to protest, but her lover stopped her by putting a finger to her lips.

“I know. But like I said, you don't need to worry about me. All of that will sort itself out.”

Adaar relaxed, though she was still not entirely convinced. It wasn't only Bull's reaction that concerned her, nor was it the one she most feared. Not all of the Valo-kas had actually lived under the Qun, but those that had held little love for the Ben-Hassrath. Convincing them that Bull was no longer part of was not going to be easy, and as much as she looked forward to seeing the only family she had, her joy was shadowed by what that family might think of her relationship with the former spy.

“You're doing it again.”

Her lover's gentle chiding broke her out of her thoughts and she sent him a smile that was equal parts guilt and apology. “I am,” she admitted, determined to follow his advice and put the matter from her mind until it actually needed to be addressed. Adaar brought his hand up to her mouth, kissing his index finger before parting her lips and running her tongue, slow and teasing, along the length of it. “Wasn't there something we were going to finish?”

Bull raised a brow, a smirk tugging at one corner of his wide mouth. “Was there? I can't remember where we left off.” He laughed when Adaar's eyes narrowed and pushed her back against the feather mattress, settling his weight between her legs, one hand pinning both of hers above her head. “Guess that means we'll have to start over.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Valo-kas arrive.

Each day since receiving Shokrakar's letter, Adaar waited for the arrival of the Valo-kas, walking the battlements in her free time, hoping for some sign that her former comrades had made it safely to Skyhold. Sometimes she was alone, sometimes Bull walked with her, teasing her about her self-imposed vigil - “You really think no one's going to notice that many people with horns, Kadan? You'll be among the first to know.”

She knew he was right. All the appropriate people had been informed about the Herald's 'relatives' and their impending arrival. Scouts posted in the pass were under orders to send a runner with the news as soon as they were spotted. She would be told, likely long before they ever reached the keep. At least she hoped so.

More than anything, she needed the extra time to prepare herself before seeing them. It had been a long time since that last job at the Conclave, and so much had changed. At times, she wondered if the Adaar they knew even existed anymore. She fought hard to keep becoming the Herald, the inquisitor, from changing her, but how much of that was simply inevitable? Would the Valo-kas find a stranger waiting to greet them? Could they accept her as she was now, or would she discover the last link to the life she'd had before all of this was broken beyond repair?

These were the questions that followed her, day after day since reading that letter. Bull seemed to understand, but he had no answers for her. She suspected he had questions of his own that haunted his thoughts on sleepless nights. They didn't really talk about it, and not just because it wasn't something that could really be fixed. It was just too damn hard to put into words; too much effort for too little gain. To know that they weren't alone in it would have to suffice. The rest would have to be worked out on their own.

Today marked day six of her watch. The problem was not knowing when the letter was sent, exactly how long it had taken to reach her, or when Shokrakar and the rest had set out. Should she expect them in days, or weeks? There was no way to know, and the waiting was driving Adaar mad, so when Sera came by asking about roof time, the inquisitor happily accepted. Sera was not the sort to let her dwell, claiming her brooding ruined the elf's fun. Her view of the world was suprisingly simple. Immature, really, but sometimes you get to choose your friends, and sometimes they choose you. Adaar still wasn't sure which was the case with Sera, but friend she was, and one who excelled at providing distraction.

They stopped by the kitchen first, made a snack of cheese and fruit to take with them, and climbed through Sera's large window to sit in their usual spot. Several minutes passed as they ate in silence. Food was the one thing that could be counted on to keep Sera quiet, and sometimes, even a full mouth was no deterrent if the elf felt something needed saying. Nothing seemed pressing at present, so Adaar just enjoyed the temporary peace, looking out over the courtyard.

It still amazed her, as many times as they had done this, that no one below ever seemed to notice they were there. They weren't hidden in any way, Adaar mused. Rather obvious, really, if anyone bothered to look up. How interesting that few people ever did.

Sera took one last noisy bite of her apple and tossed the core to the side, not bothering to see where it landed. She wiped her hand against her tunic and turned to the inquisitor. “I hear you've got people coming.”

Adaar nodded. “What's left of my company, yes.”

“Are they like you? All big and...” she waved a hand above her head in a motion that followed the sweep of Adaar's horns.

Addar laughed, wondering when she'd learned to speak Sera, and gave another nod. “They're qunari, yes. Well, Tal-Vashoth,” she corrected.

“That means they don't hold to that Qun rubbish, right?” the elf asked with a frown. “Don't need anyone trying to give me purpose.”

“They aren't particularly fond of it, either. No one's going to try to convert you, Sera.”

“Right. Well, it's all good then, yeah? You get to see your friends, and I get to keep having fun.”

“Something like that,” Adaar agreed, eyes distant.

“Oh stop it, you,” Sera sighed in disgust. “Don't go all mopey on me.” The elf thought a moment and brightened. “You could do with a bit of fun yourself,” she suggested playfully.

“Why, Sera, are you propositioning me?” Adaar asked, her tone mocking. “Think of the scandal.”

“What? No. I mean, you're nice to look at, sure, but...” Sera's spluttering faded as she realized she was being teased. She narrowed her eyes and smacked Adaar's arm. “That's not funny.”

“I thought it was. Don't think I've never noticed you staring at my tits.”

The smaller woman shrugged. “They're nice tits. No harm in looking. Besides, your version of slap and tickle is not my idea of a good time, Oh Lady Touched One. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“What a pity,” Adaar said sweetly. “Your loss.”

Sera rolled her eyes. “Right. What I was _trying_ to say is that you need to lighten up.” She picked up a grape from their discarded meal, rose, and pointed to where Cassandra was practicing at a training dummy. “Five silver says I can hit her from here.”

“Maybe not her,” Adaar said quickly, also getting to her feet. The seeker was not likely to find being hit with stray fruit amusing, and explaining her own involvement was just begging for a headache. “She's too close,” Adaar pointed out when the elf's face darkened. “Find someone more of a challenge.” She scanned the people below, eyes coming to rest on a familiar blond head. The qunari's mouth curved in a wicked grin as she pointed out her target. “Him. Five silver if you can hit him.”

“Seggrit, eh?” Sera smirked her approval. “Bastard deserves it.”

Adaar couldn't agree more. After years of being called an ox, the merchant's casual use of the slur 'knife-ear' grated her nerves. She had also grown tired of his constant whining about being reassigned, and his inflated sense of self importance. She watched as he turned to speak with someone, his back to them now. “Ten if you get him in the back of the head,” she whispered. “Hit the other guy, and _you_ owe _me_ five silver.”

Sera giggled. “Knew there was a reason I liked you. Alright, Lady Herald. You're on.” She took a moment to line up her aim and then drew back her arm and threw. The grape sailed through the air so fast the inquisitor lost sight of it. Seggrit's sudden startled jerk and a loud curse was the only indication that Sera made her mark. He clapped a hand to the crown of his head and turned around, fire in his eyes as he searched for his assailant.

Adaar dropped to a crouch, pulling the elf with her as both women collapsed into giggles. The leaned against each other helplessly, shoulders shaking and fists pressed to their mouths to muffle the sound of their laughter. They quieted on three separate occasions, nearly regaining composure, but it only lasted as long as neither woman would look at the other. Once their eyes met, that tenuous thread of control snapped and they'd be back where they started.

When their infectious laughter finally played itself out, Adaar wrapped an arm around her aching abdominal muscles and reached into a pocket, counting out Sera's prize. “Ten silver,” she declared, dropping the coin into the elf's waiting hand. “As promised.”

“Right, then,” Sera grunted as she tucked the money away. She plucked another grape from the half-eaten bunch. “Your turn, and I get to pick this time. Let's see...” She tapped finger against her chin in thought as she surveyed the grounds. Suddenly, she stopped, nudging Adaar in the side with her elbow. “Look there.” She indicated a scout that was hurrying towards Cassandra, his expression urgent.

Adaar glanced over in interest as he spoke quietly to the seeker. Cassandra nodded, touched his shoulder, and the man was off again. Sheathing her sword, the seeker walked over to stand below them and looked up at Adaar. “Inquisitor. Qunari have been seen in the pass. They will arrive within the hour, should you wish to meet them.” She arched a feathery black brow in mild disapproval. “That is assuming, of course, that the two of you are finished up there?”

Hiding her twinge of embarassment at being caught by the stern woman, Adaar sent the woman a pleasant smile and thanked her. Beside her, Sera cackled.

“Look at her,” she snarked once the seeker was out of hearing range. “She even walks like there's a stick up her arse.”

“She's not that bad once you get to know her,” Adaar said in the other woman's defense.

The elf let out a snort. “So says you. She's pretty enough, sure. But Miss Truth and Righteousness wouldn't know fun if it came up and bit her on the arse. She needs to loosen up, punch a bear or two. She'll be better for it.”

“Punch a _bear_?”

“Right, you missed that. If they're attacking and we're just gonna kill 'em anyway, why not?

Adaar opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, shaking her head. “I don't even know how to respond to that.”

“Then don't,” Sera shrugged. “You've got bigger things to worry about, anyway. Looks like your people are here.”

The inquisitor followed her gaze to where a crowd was gathering near the gate and sighed. “Looks like.”

Feigning a calm she didn't feel, Adaar worked her way through the throng of people huddled near Skyhold's massive gates. Sera, always looking for a scene, was close on her heels. Men and women of the Inquisition, some soldiers, some not, huddled in small groups, whispering amongst themselves. The air was thick with tension. Word had gotten around that more qunari would be joining them, and if the general atmosphere was anything to go by, most people were not pleased with the news.

“More oxmen?” one woman whispered, the hand near her mouth doing nothing to keep her words from carrying. “Dear Maker! What do we need with more?”

“Mercenaries,” a soldier spat. “Sellswords...”

“Bad enough we've got mages in every corner ... to have heretical giants as well?”

“But the inquisitor...”

“The inquisitor is the Herald... touched by the Blessed Prophet herself. If the Bride of the Maker doesn't care what form... neither should you...”

Bits and pieces of different conversations reached her ears, until Adaar at last tuned them out. Her own horned status had been all but forgotten once people started calling her the Herald of Andraste. She had been uncomfortable with the title at first, but soon found that she didn't care what lies people needed to tell themselves to get through the day. She never once referred to herself as such, but like Sera and her pranks, if that was what it took to keep people going, she saw no one reason to take that hope away - even if she'd felt like little more than a charlatan in the beginning.

The Valo-kas didn't have the anchor to fall back on, however. Most of the people here were decent folk. The novelty would wear off, and they would warm to the mercenaries in time, or ignore them entirely. In the meantime, she made a mental note to speak with Leliana and Cullen about keeping an eye on things for a while. Maybe Cole could make sure all those daggers stayed safely hidden away.

Quietly taking a place towards the front of the group, Adaar felt her mouth go dry as she saw the cluster of mercenaries casually making their way across the bridge, her former leader at their head. Shokrakar was as tall and straight as she remembered, a calm confidence that Adaar had always envied evident in the set of her broad shoulders, the way she held her head high. The older woman walked with an easy grace, the giant two-handed blade strapped to her back no more burdensome to her than a knife at one's hip.

Adaar quickly looked for the others, silently counting as her eyes swept over their faces. She was relieved to find they had all arrived, unscathed from their journey.

From her side, Sera let out a low whistle. “Would you look at her,” she murmured in appreciation, indicating a short woman with broken horns and charcoal colored vitaar that swirled in intricate patterns across her nose and high cheekbones.

“That's Katoh,” Adaar replied, never taking her eyes off the group.

“Wait. Katoh? Like your word?”

“Leave it, Sera,” the inquisitor warned. “Now is not the time.”

“Alright.”

Adaar looked down at the elf in surprise.

Sera laughed. “Oh, this is too good to let go forever. You'll be hearing about it later, for sure. But it's no fun if you're too distracted to care, right?”

“Ah, that sounds more like the Sera I know,” Adaar smiled in spite of herself. “I was beginning to think you'd been possessed.”

“Not funny,” the elf scowled. “Anyway, I'm off. But you'll definitely be seeing more of me,” she nodded her head toward Katoh. “You'll have to introduce us or whatever.” She turned to leave calling over her shoulder, “And don't think I'm going to forget that possessed bit.”

The inquisitor shook her head, made a silent vow to start checking doorways before she walked through them, and turned her attention back to the Valo-kas. Having already seen what they'd come for, most of the crowd was breaking up and leaving. Only a few stragglers remained when the qunari came through the gate. Adaar took a deep breath and moved forward.

“Raka,” she greeted, clasping the older woman's arm near the elbow. “It's good to see you.”

Shokrakar returned the greeting, the harsh lines of her face softening as she took in the sight of her former charge. “Nice place you got here, kid,” she commented, looking around. “Seems like the whole inquistor thing is working out for you.”

All at once, her anxiety evaporated, and she was surrounded by the family she wasn't sure she'd ever see again. Kaariss sqeezed her hand in affection, regaling her with his latest poem, an ode to the majesty of the Frostback Mountains. Katoh and Shokrakar cracked jokes about the Inquisition's choice of heraldry, Taarlok quizzed her about the details of her contract, appalled when she told him there hadn't been time for one and promising to remedy the situation immediately. Even Ashaad, her stoic old mentor, pulled her into a rare hug. It was almost like nothing had changed.

Almost.

Sata-kas hung back, Adaar noticed. The young woman's jaw was clenched tight, her hands folded into fists at her side.

“Sata?” Adaar asked, her brow creased in concern. “What's wrong?”

“How can you stay?” the woman hissed. “How can you stand to be here after all they've done?”

“I..I don't understand, Sata.”

Sata gave an angry toss of her head, her short silver hair bouncing. “Humans,” she growled, low and quiet. She snorted, eying Adaar in disgust. “It's no wonder you don't understand; you're practically one of them now. You even _dress_ the way they do.”

“Sata, enough,” Shokrakar's hoarse voice cut in, saving a bewildered Adaar from responding. “We've all heard it, and heard it some more. Try keeping that pretty mouth shut if you don't have anything new to say.”

Sata's eyes blazed, but she fell silent, lips clamped into a bloodless line.

Shokrakar slung a heavy arm around Adaar's shoulders. “So show me the place, kid. Got any food around here?” Leaning down, she added quietly, “Don't let her get to you. She's been like this since Sataa died. Blames the humans, and can't get it through that thick skull of hers that trying to get revenge is just throwing fuel on the fire. We'll all burn.”

“Do you think she'll be alright?” Adaar asked as they climbed the steps to the courtyard. Sata was the youngest of them, as fiery and impulsive as her brother. She and Sataa had bickered constantly, but they had been inseparable. _Until they took that damn job._

Shokrakar rubbed at the knotted scar tissue that twisted once side of her mouth into a perpetual grimace and sighed. “Fuck if I know. I thought she needed time, but maybe she needs a kick in the ass more. I'll talk to her again, keep an eye on her. She won't start any shit here, trust me. I'm not gonna let anyone bring the fucking Qun down on us.” The taller woman stopped as they neared the training yard, her sharp gaze fixed on whatever gave her pause. Adaar looked over in confusion, eyes going wide as she saw Bull out there, helping Krem with his shieldwork. _Oh, shit._

Shokrakar smirked, the scars around her mouth giving the expression a feral edge. “Looks like the Qun's already here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar decides the best way to get the Valo-kas to accept Bull is to get them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with the Qun here. I stick to established lore when I can, but dip into personal canon when needed. Also, Qunlat is marked by italics. There just isn't enough of the language to try to take a stab at actually writing it, so it will be in italicized English for the sake of uniformity.
> 
> I'm always open to feedback. I'd love to hear what you think.

“He's Tal-Vashoth, Raka,” Adaar said firmly, determined to make that important fact as clear as possible.

There were many things she hadn't mentioned in the short notes she sent to her former leader, and Bull was one of them. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her lover – quite the opposite, in fact. Some topics deserved more than the few scribbled lines she managed to find the time for. Bull and his former status, the Inquisition's almost-alliance with the Qun – these were the sorts of things Adaar felt deserved a more personal conversation than a letter was able to provide. She needed to tell Shokrakar to her face. She owed the older woman that much, though she might have wished for a better introduction to the moment she'd been dreading since the Valo-kas arrived.

“Inquisitor?” A small woman hurried forward, dipping her head in respect. From her dark skin and hair, Adaar recogized her as Josephine's young assistant. “Accomodations have been arranged for our guests. Lady Montilyet has requested that your friends have their pick of the available rooms in the The Herald's Rest.” She looked around, obviously uncomfortable in the presence of so many qunari. “My lady regrets that she cannot attend you herself at present, but if it would please you, I'm to show you around and see you settled in.”

“Well, shit,” Shokrakar laughed, clapping Adaar on the shoulder. “Wasn't expecting the royal treatment, kid. You all go on ahead,” she added, with a brusque wave at the others. “I'll catch up.” She gave Sata a pointed look, despite the grin that accompanied it. “Don't get into trouble without me.”

There was some confused whispering among the Valo-kas, but all did as their leader asked. Kaariss raised a puzzled brow at Taarlok, but nodded, handsome features brightening at the prospect of getting out of his travel-stained clothes. Sata scowled, clearly wanting to argue, but finally relented under the force of Shokrakar's unwavering stare, allowing Katoh to take her by the arm and pull her along. Some unspoken message passed between Shokrakar and Ashaad as he passed. She nodded once and then jerked her head toward the others. Ashaad touched Adaar gently on the arm and followed after them without a word.

“You should talk to the old man,” Shokrakar said once they were alone. “The bastard will never admit it, but he worries about you.”

“Ash ought to know I can look after myself,” Adaar snapped, feeling all of thirteen again. “He was the one who taught me, after all.”

“And he knows what a stubborn brat you can be,” she older woman retorted. “He's got reason to worry.”

Adaar sighed and shook her head. “Look, the situation with Bull isn't what you think.”

The older woman crossed scarred arms over her chest, amber eyes fixed on the two figures in the training yard. “Maybe it's not,” she conceded. “But are you so sure it's what you think it is?”

“I _know_ it is. Bull's a good man.”

Shokrakar leered, “Oh, it's like _that_ is it?”

Biting her lip against a scathing retort, Adaar said nothing. Even after all her years with Shokrakar, it still amazed her that the old mercenary was able to pick up on so much while being told so little. Her cheeks flamed. This was not how she'd planned on bringing up her relationship.

Bull and Krem were sparring now, the former just barely raising his shield in time to deflect a blow from the latter. Krem staggered under the impact, but recovered enough to retaliate. Bull laughed, and said something she couldn't hear at this distance, taunting the smaller man while he effortlessly brought his huge axe up to block the strike. Adaar had been in combat with Bull enough times to know that he was holding back. She'd seen that axe shatter a shield.

Shokrakar's words echoed her observation. “Tough little shit,” she murmured in admiration. “Even if the big one is going easy on him.”

“They're friends,” Adaar shrugged. “Bull isn't going to chance actually hurting him.”

“Friends, huh? That's just fine, but he'll never get any better if he doesn't push him now and then.”

There was no point in explaining that Krem was still nursing a recent injury to his shield arm. Shokrakar had her own method of training her men, and while she never pushed more than she thought any of them could handle, she was also a firm believer that a bruise served as not only a more effective lesson than repeating herself, but a lasting reminder as well. The grizzled mercenary wasn't cruel, but she wasn't one to coddle her men over their mistakes, either.

Several minutes ticked by before Shokrakar said, “Well, I can understand the appeal". Her gaze roamed over Bull's muscled form before she turned to Adaar. “Bit soft for Ben-Hassrath, though.”

Adaar hid her surprise as she studied her former leader. Shokrakar's dense body was a map of silver scars. Some were so old they'd almost faded entirely. Others were still carried a tinge of pink that marked them as the more recent. The larger ones, twisted and gnarled masses of poorly healed tissue, were from injuries earned on jobs. Most of her scars were smaller, cleaner lines, with a precision that indicated intent. These, Adaar knew, were souvenirs from the Ben-Hassrath's numerous attempts to reeducate the indomitable woman.

She'd heard the stories - they all had. Shokrakar's blunt honesty was one of the things Adaar admired most, even if it was a double-edged sword at times. Raka didn't mince words or play games; she kept no secrets. Her simple manner of speaking often led those who didn't know her to underestimate her intelligence – a mistake they soon learned to regret. The truth of it was the mercenary leader had nothing to hide. She had no fear, no shame, none of the regrets and doubt that most people tried to conceal. She was who she was, and refused to apologize for it.

“Whatever he was, he's Tal-Vashoth now,” Adaar said at last. After a moment, she quietly asked, “How did you know?”

Shokrakar grinned down at her, golden eyes meeting violet. “They spend all their time watching us, thinking we don't know they're there. Thing is, some of us were watching right back. Ever heard of 'a tool for every job?' The Qun takes that shit seriously. Every role has a tool to go with it, except for the Ben-Hassrath. Those bastards can use whatever it takes to get the job done.”

She flicked a large, calloused hand toward Bull and Krem. “He's qunari trained, but not from the Antaam; they're only trained in one weapon, and even the ones who've gone Tal-Vashoth are pretty attached to it. I've seen him use an axe and a shield with the kid so far, and I'd bet good coin he's decent enough with just about anything he picks up. Plus, you didn't deny it,” she pointed out with a smirk.

“You're as bad as he is,” Adaar sighed, rubbing at the dull throb in her temple. “He _was_ Ben-Hassrath, and he never made a secret of the fact.”

Shokrakar scratched at the shaved side of her head. “Huh. Not very good at his job, then.”

“He said we'd find out anyway,” Adaar explained. “He was under orders to join up with the Inquisition and report back what we were doing.” She shook her head when Shokrakar's gaze sharpened at that and held up a hand. “I know what it sounds like, but I knew he was a spy and why he wanted in from the very beginning.”

“And you just let him in?”

“There was a hole in the sky, Raka,” Adaar said dryly. “And say what you will, but Bull can more than handle himself in a fight.”

“And you needed all the help you could get with demons popping up everywhere,” Shokrakar sighed. “Alright, kid, I get it. Not sure I like it, but I get it.”  
Adaar's gaze turned pleading. “I need you to trust me,” she said softly. “I wouldn't put any of you in danger.”

“I've got no doubts about that.” Shokrakar's gruff voice was firm. “So you get that silly shit out of your head.” When Adaar nodded, she slapped lightly at the smaller woman's arm. “C'mon kid. Let's see if Sata's finished sulking.”

Adaar frowned at the mention of Sata, remembering why the young mercenary was upset in the first place. “Should I try to talk to her?”

“Best to let it be, for now. She'll come around.”

“You honestly think so?”

Shokrakar lifted one broad shoulder in a casual shrug. “I know my guys. It's fresh right now. She's pissed and hurting, but that will fade in time.”

“About that job, Raka-”

The older woman gave a sharp shake of her head to cut Adaar off. “Don't,” she warned, her expression stern. “I asked for work, you found us some. The rest is not on you. Don't insult your brothers and sister by making their deaths a way to feel sorry for yourself.” Her face softened when she added, “You know they'd wanna kick your ass themselves for that. You always did worry too much, kid. Now, enough of this and let's go. I told you how Kaariss had thirty-four new sonnets? It's more like forty now, and there's no way I can handle that shit on an empty stomach.”

 

*****

 

It took no time at all for the Valo-kas to settle in. Mercenaries to the core, they had no trouble acclimating to the bustle of Skyhold. That they were Tal-Vashoth mercenaries only made it that much easier to ignore the looks they got when they promptly claimed a corner of the tavern as their own. The staring of a few humans was hardly new to them.

It was early evening and the tavern was rapidly filling. Maryden was in her usual spot, lute in hand, but for once she was not trying to sing or play above the dull roar of so many voices speaking at once. Kaariss was sitting next to her, and as Adaar watched, the mage, dressed impeccably as always in a fine robe he'd had custom-tailored, thrust another sheet of parchment under the bard's nose. The inquisitor smiled as Maryden nodded, strumming a few notes on her lute as she mouthed the words on the page. Kaariss beamed down at her, obviously pleased, and leaned over to point out something else on the page. Adaar wasn't quite sure if Skyhold was ready for the combined genius of the poet and bard, but the coming days were sure to be interesting.

“You're jesting,” Katoh declared in a voice amplified by drink. The small rogue was straddling her chair, arms crossed over the back. She picked up her tankard, making a face when she found it empty. “Really, a goat?”

“A goat,” Adaar confirmed, signalling to Cabot for another round of drinks. “A real, live goat – until it hit the wall at least,” she corrected. “I'm still not sure how they managed to get the blood off.”

Katoh shook her head sadly, eyes bleary. “That's a damn shame, and a waste of good meat. What was the point?”

Adaar shrugged. “Some kind of retaliation, I think. For killing his son, though he didn't really seem too upset by it. I didn't get it, either.”

“Who could?” Shokrakar asked with a roll of her eyes. “Human customs don't make any sense.”

One of the serving girls came over with a large tray of mugs. Adaar thanked her as she set them down and replied, “No one here seemed to understand it any more than I did. I think it's an Avaar tradition.”

Taarlok let out a booming laugh. “Ha! Humans that the other humans don't understand! And then you set his crazy ass loose on Tevinter.” He raised his tankard to her, ale sloshing over the side. “Well done!”

A chorus of drunken cheers went up around the table, and Adaar could only laugh as she lifted her own mug. She'd missed this, more than she had realized. The Inquisition's soldiers still stumbled over their reverence for Andraste's Herald whenever she approached them. The Chargers had warmed to her, but she suspected bedding their boss had a lot to do with that. She'd made plenty of new friends in her time with the Inquisition, but they were an addition, not a replacement for those she'd left behind after the disaster at the conclave. And the Valo-kas were more than friends. They were siblings, their bond forged from countless battles and the unique kinship of a fellow pariah. She'd developed similar ties with Dorian, Cole, and even Sera, but it felt good to have her original family back with her. She only hoped that her old friends would accept the new. So when she saw Bull and the Chargers come in from training, she threw caution to the wind and caught her lover's eye, waving him over.

Bull gave her a doubtful look, but nodded. He slapped Krem on the back and pointed to where she sat, appearing entirely at ease as he made his way over. Shokrakar arched a brow at her over the rim of her tankard but said nothing.

“Hey, Boss,” Bull said lightly, pulling over and empty chair. “Surprised they let you out so early.”

“It seems I've been paroled,” Adaar quipped. “On account of good behavior.”

Katoh snorted into her drink, but otherwise the joke fell flat as a heavy tension fell over the group. Krem cleared his throat uncomfortably, sharing a look with the other Chargers, but no one spoke. Everyone was focused on their respective leaders, who, Adaar noted, seemed to be locked in some kind of staring contest. Several long seconds ticked by, and still, neither relented. Adaar sighed, struggling to control her rising temper. She was just about to find another table and leave them to it when Shokrakar spoke, not in the common tongue, but Qunlat.

“ _She trusts you_.”

“ _And you don't_ ,” Bull acknowledged, in the same language.

“ _I don't_.” Shokrakar gave a lazy shrug. “ _Whose side are you really on_?”

Bull grunted, his features twisting into a scowl. “ _Does it really matter what I say? She knows what side I'm on. Seems like the real question is do you trust_ her?”

The Chargers were looking decidedly uneasy at this point, casting worried glances between each other and their leader. Most of the Valo-kas just looked amused, no doubt aided by copious amounts of alcohol and the ability to actually follow the exchange; even Sata seemed had seemed to let go of some her gloom, a small smile playing about the corners of her mouth. Adaar shared none of their humor, and was quickly growing tired of the two discussing her like a small child that couldn't fend for herself.

“ _That's enough_!” she snapped. “ _At least have the courtesy to talk about me when I'm not around_.” Switching to common, she added “You want a pissing match? Take it somewhere else!”

“Wait!” Katoh cried, digging a handful of coin from her pocket. She squinted, attempting to count the coins in her unsteady hand before slamming them down on the table. “I've got eight silver! Eight silver on Shokrakar!”

Not to be outdone, Krem tossed back the last of his drink and began counting out his own wager. Within moments, others followed suit, the previous tension shattered by the clinking of coin and boisterous cheers for their respective leaders.

Adaar leaned toward Bull, whispering, “There better not be any actual pissing.”

“No promises, Boss,” he smirked back. “My reputation's at stake.”

The inquisitor shook her head, but couldn't hold back a relieved chuckle. Shokrakar met her eyes over the table and winked, seemingly satisfied with whatever game she'd been playing with Bull. The old mercenary might not like Adaar's relationship with the former Ben-Hassrath, but she would accept it as her decision to make. The real challenge, Adaar knew, would be getting Ashaad to see the same thing. Her eyes settled on the morose countenace of the man who had been the only father she'd ever known. No, she decided. Ash would not be so easily convinced.

Her silent contemplation of her mentor was interrupted by Bulls' voice, lowered to prevent being overheard. “You never told me you spoke Qunlat.”

“You didn't ask, and I figured you would just take it as an insult to your precious Qun,” Adaar retorted.

“Yeah. Probably would have,” Bull admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I was an asshole, Kadan.”

“Yes,” Adaar agreed. They'd had a rocky start, neither fully trusting the other, and there was no point in denying it. It hadn't taken long to move past that. “But you came around.”

“Speaking of coming around, you up for company later?”

“I think I can manage,” Adaar purred, her smile turning sly. “Though I'd prefer sooner rather than later.”

“We can do sooner,” Bull laughed standing. He held out a hand to her.

She took it, allowing her lover to pull her to her feet, calling goodnight to the assembled mercenaries, and rolling her eyes at Katoh when the rogue made a lewd gesture and winked.

“That's clearly a forfit!” Taarlok crowed in triumph, eying the pile of coin eagerly.

“Aw, c'mon, Chief!” Krem protested as a collective groan went up among the Chargers.

“Weren't you worried about your reputation?” Adaar asked, smiling up at her lover.

Bull cupped a hand around her cheek and leaned in to kiss her. Adaar flushed as their audience broke out in whistling catcalls, a few thumping their tankards against the table in drunken applause. When the kiss ended, Bull grinned. “I think my reputation is doing just fine.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar finally has the conversation she's been dreading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has very little humor. Compared to previous parts, it's rather angsty, but I felt it was needed. No matter how laid back the Valo-kas are, I can't see Adaar's relationship with Bull going over well with some of them, so this chapter addresses that.

It was more than a week before Adaar could make good on her promise to speak with Ashaad. Her advisors had been kind enough to give her a couple of days to see to the Valo-kas, handling whatever minor issues appeared between the three of them, but there was still an ancient darkspawn magister on the loose, and Adaar was loathe to lose the advantage the Inquisition had gained on Corypheus. Once more, her days became a long stream of meetings, reports, and plotting against the Venatori, but even so, she knew that was only half the truth of it. The other half, the half that she was content to ignore, was that all of that amounted to a rather convenient excuse to delay the inevitable. Her talk with Ash wasn't a matter of _if_ , but _when_.

A man of few words, Ash chose his carefully. He did not fill silence with idle chatter if there was nothing to say, and he did not sweeten his words when he felt the need to speak out. He could be brutal in his honesty, loosing each word with the precision of an arrow. It was a trait he and Shokrakar shared, to some extent, though unlike their leader, Ash offered no easy grin to soften the sting of the truth as he saw it. Adaar knew him well enough to know he would not offer his thoughts until she approached him, but once she did, he would hold nothing back.

Out of all the Valo-kas, Ash's opinion of her mattered the most. It would hurt to see disapproval writ across his cragged features, but she would hear him out, would bear it if she must. Before she had the Valo-kas, the Inquisition, she'd had Ashaad. They'd had each other. It wasn't about who owed whom, it was about respect, and there was no one alive that she respected more. So when she saw his lone form standing on the battlements, Adaar knew it was time.

Ashaad leaned forward against the wall, arms resting in front of him on the cold stone. Adaar stood next to him, and though he did not look over or otherwise acknowedge her presence, she knew it had not escaped him. She cocked her hip, folded her arms over her chest and looked out at the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the mountains. An indeterminate amount of time, marked by the slow creeping of the shadows, passed without a word between them. To Adaar's surprise, it was Ash who broke the silence first.

“You've done well for yourself,” he remarked quietly, eyes still focused on the hazy strip of horizon.

Adaar, pretending she hadn't noticed the tell-tale pause that signalled a rather large _but_ was sure to follow that statement, bowed her head. “Not much of what happened after the conclave would have been my first choice, but thank you, Ash. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Life seldom offers you a choice, Asaara. It's what you do with the those it allows that matters.”

She winced at the use of her given name. Ashaad was the only one who ever called her such, despite her aversion to it. It seemed silly, this need to hide from one small word, but its power was undeniable. A few short syllables were capable of awakening a host of memories she preferred to leave buried.

“No one calls me that anymore,” she reminded stubbornly, her jaw tightening to match the constriction in her throat.

“It is the name Taashath gave you.” He turned to look at her, his rugged face neutral. “I can call a stone a tree, but it is still a stone. Someone long ago made the decision to call it so, just as she made hers to call you Asaara. It was never your choice to make.”

It was an old argument, and one that proved, in Adaar's eyes, at least, that the old Tal-Vashoth had never truly been able to let go of the Qun he'd walked away from. He'd never been the sort to preach about her place in life, but she found herself wondering if that was simply because that sort of thing was the purview of tamassrans, and thus, didn't concern him anyway. It wasn't a very charitable thought, and she regretted it almost as soon as it formed in her mind. Whatever scraps he still might cling to, he'd left that life behind.

“Mother's gone, Ash,” she said softly. “And that name is just a reminder of the night she died.”

“And the man sharing your bed isn't?” Ashaad's gaze sharpened, though his voice did not betray his rising emotion.

Adaar could not say the same for herself. “Bull had nothing to do with that!”

“He's Ben-Hassrath. You think there's a difference between him and the men that killed her? How many lives is he responsible for ending?”

It wasn't a question she could answer, nor one she wanted to think about. Bull's own offhand admission had been hundreds, and she knew from his early days with the Inquisition that whatever he'd witnessed all those years in Seheron made it difficult to see past the title of Tal-Vashoth. She had to admit that it was possible, likely even, that some of the people he'd killed were guilty of nothing more than wanting a life free from the Qun. But if she'd learned anything from her time as inquisitor, it was that passing judgement had a way of forcing one to take a hard look at one's own actions.

She thought of Erimond, the one and only prisoner she'd ordered to be executed. Erimond was crazy, a fanatical follower of Corypheus that she'd deemed too dangerous to be allowed to live. She still felt it was the right decision. He had died by her hand, shackled, so there was no excuse of self-defense to lean on. She was in charge, so she couldn't claim she was just following orders.The Inquisition had given her the power to make that call, but did she truly have the right? Did anyone?

These were the sort of questions that weighed on her, chasing each other round and round until her eyes burned and her temples throbbed. The only answer she'd ever come up with was that some questions were too complex for the simplicity of answers, and maybe that was how it was supposed to be.

“How many lives have you or I taken, Ash?” she asked at last. “If you really want to break this down into black and white, give me black and white. Stop letting mother color the issue.”

Her words struck a nerve. She could see it in the way Ash's nostrils flared, the twitch of muscle in his jaw. His calm veneer, always present, was cracking as his control slipped. Regret formed a heavy ache in the pit of her stomach at the realization that her terse remark had hurt him, but she would not take it back, even if she could. She'd known he would object to her relationship with the former spy; she would never have guessed he'd consider it a betrayal of her mother.

“It's not the same,” Ashaad said tightly. “Not with the Qun. There's qunari, and there's everyone else. _They_ make it that simple. If you understood that, if you knew what it cost your mother to protect you from that, you would never have even considered allying with the bastards!”

“I don't have the luxury of being picky about our allies.” Adaar's voice dropped to a low hiss, her fingers gripping the wall so hard the knuckles were white. “And don't tell me I don't know what it cost her. I was there. I know _exactly_ what it cost her!”

She wanted to say more, to fling words as sharp as daggers to deflect his assumption of her ignorance, but her throat closed under an onslaught of images from that terrible night.

The cupboard had been a tight fit for her twelve year old frame, but she had managed, at her mother's urging, to hide herself in there. She still didn't know how they'd been found. Perhaps one of the villagers had let something slip to the wrong ears, perhaps there was more hostility in the wary looks they'd grown accustomed to than her child's mind had been able to perceive. All that mattered was that the Ben-Hassrath came, and when one ventured too close to where she cowered in the dark, shaking, her heart beating too loudly in her ears, her mother tried to fend him off with one of her cooking knives. It was over in a few short minutes, but Adaar still remembered the copper tang in the air, the bright splash of crimson against the pale green of the rushes spread on the floor, the cold stillness of her mother's body.

Ash was the one who found her, still in her cupboard, eyes wide and staring, some time later. And now he had the nerve to tell her she _didn't understand_.

Adaar took a deep breath, snatching for some semblance of control. This was not how she wanted this to go. She needed to rein things in, before either one of them said something that pushed their relationship beyond boundaries that would not be so easy to cross over again.

“I was there,” she repeated, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I saw what happened. I was also there when Bull was declared Tal-Vashoth.”

“From what I've heard, that was your doing,” Ashaad pointed out.

Adaar shook her head. “No. It was my order, but he blew the damn horn, knowing that he'd be considered Tal-Vashoth for doing so. He didn't run off in the middle of the night like most of them, Ash. He made a decision, and owned the consequences. I can't say that it makes up for anything that happened before; I don't think it works like that – for any of us. But I can tell you that he's a good man.”

Ash didn't have a response to that, and they lapsed back into a tense silence that lasted so long that Adaar feared irreparable damage had already been done.

He'd been around for as long as she could remember. It was Ash who had helped Taashath escape from the Qun, and after, Ash who had made sure they had what they needed to survive among the humans. He'd saved her when she had no one, brought her to the Valo-kas, and for the first time she'd realized that she could have a place among her own kind – not an assigned role, but a path of her own making. He'd been a father, a teacher, and later, a trusted friend. Was all of that now slipping away?

Unable to help herself, Adaar searched his face, looking for some clue that would tell her where they stood. She was shocked to find his lavendar eyes looking back at her, dark with pain. His mouth was pinched, grief deepening the lines on his face. He tilted his head as he regarded her, and gave her arm a squeeze.

“You're a lot like her,” he said, his voice a mix of pride and sorrow. “She had a gentle soul, and always looked for the good in people.”

It was a rare moment, to see this level of emotion from the stoic man. She could only remember a handful of times that Ash had ever spoken to her during his visits when she was a child. That had changed out of necessity after her mother died, but he was still distant. He'd given her plenty of affection, in his own way, but Ash had always kept a part of himself closed off from the others, herself included.

“You loved her,” she whispered in sudden understanding.

“Oh, yes,” Ash admitted. “And she loved me, if not quite in the same way.”

“Will you tell me about her? What she was like...before? She always seemed so sad.”

Ash blew out a long sigh but nodded. “I expect that was because of your father.”

“You knew him?” She bit back the sense of disappointment at the mention of her father. Taashath had never spoken of him, and Adaar had grown up both suspecting and hoping that Ash and that man were one and the same.

“He was a good friend, another Ashaad. But he never made it out of the city. The Ben-Hassrath found out about his plans to leave the Qun, and he got a message to me, asking me to get your mother out. I heard later that he was given qamek after he refused to give up Taashath.” Ash swallowed hard and shook his head. “Death would have been kinder. Your mother didn't take the news well. Her job was to take care of the Viddath-bas, the ones whose minds had been 'freed', so she knew the effects of qamek firsthand. I don't think she ever forgave herself for getting away when he didn't.”

“I always thought...you and she...”

“Ah,” Ash murmured. “No. She was a dear friend, but it never went beyond that. She didn't want to raise you around other Tal-Vashoth. I begged her to go with me to the Valo-kas, tried to tell her it was safer than being on her own with you, but she wouldn't budge, stubborn fool. She didn't want anyone influencing you, wanted you to figure out your own place in the world without anyone's biases on the Qun coloring your judgement.”

His tone turned bitter, and Adaar's eyes widened in a sudden flash of insight. She'd always assumed that, like most Tal-Vashoth she'd known, Ash's time under the Qun had soured his perspective of the world. Now, she realized that was only half of it. It was freedom without ever truly being free of what was left behind. His was the view of a man who'd went searching for greener pastures, only to discover too late that mud was everywhere. How many Tal-Vashoth had similar dreams of a free life, only to watch as those dreams crumbled around them at the realization that they would never truly escape?

“Do you ever regret leaving?” Adaar asked gently.

The deep lines around his eyes softened as Ash offered what might have been a smile had the expression not been so fleeting. “I did, at times. Two people I cared about would still be around if we had stayed. But if we had, I'd have never known another, and I think that would be even worse.”

Adaar leaned her head against his shoulder, mindful of her horns, and let the gesture say what she couldn't. Ash pulled her into a rare hug, dropping a kiss into her hair before letting go.

“She'd be proud of you, Asaara. I am.You came into your own, just like she wanted. How could I regret that?” Ash looked away for a few moments, as if gathering his thoughts. “This... Iron Bull. Do you love him?”

“Yes,” Adaar replied. “I do.”

Her mentor gave a slow nod. “Alright. You won't hear anymore about it from me. But if he ever hurts you, I'll geld him with a rusted spoon.”

Adaar let out a startled burst of laughter, relief coursing through her now that things were finally settled. “It won't come to that.”

“Good. I've still got one ready, just in case.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Members of the inquisition and the Valo-kas get together for a game of Wicked Grace. Adaar drinks more than she should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to SweetTeaholic for her help with this chapter, and the story in general. The card game was her idea.

After her talk with Ash, Adaar saw little of the Valo-kas. Leliana discovered that a new red lyrium operation had formed in the Wastes, and Adaar, Bull, Varric and Dorian were busy with shutting it down.

Of all the horrors Corypheus had introduced her to in his grab for power, red lyrium was the worst, and encounters with its victims tended to stay with her. She pitied the red templars for their wretched state, even as she hated them for reminding her of the future that nearly came to pass. The memories of Cassandra and Bull, red crystals erupting from their flesh as the first stirrings of madness burned in their bloodshot eyes, were no less vivid for the distance offered by time, and were a regular feature of her nightmares.

By the time she returned to Skyhold, she was sullen and silent. Her companions, cognizant of her foul mood, had given her space, each rushing off to attend to their own matters in the keep. Adaar was left to attend a lengthy debriefing with her advisors. She carefully avoided staring too long at her spymaster's face, lest she see her as she had in that awful future, corrupted by blight and months of torture.

When the meeting was finally over, the inquisitor rubbed at her eyes with a weary hand as if she could wipe away the offending images and rolled the ache from her neck and shoulders. She wanted nothing more than several hours of uninterrupted sleep but knew that it would taking something stronger than Cabot's watered down ale to make it worth the effort. Between the Chargers and the Valo-kas, the dwarf had grown stingy of late with his better selection.

_That, or he knows more about that missing cookie dough than he let on_ , Adaar mused.

Fortunately, she'd managed to acquire a rather impressive collection of her own, and Cabot need be none the wiser.

In the cellar, Adaar looked over her assortment, marveling that so many people in Thedas seemed to misplace their liquor. She selected a bottle at random and read the label. _Vint-9 Rowan's Rose_. Wrinkling her nose, Adaar promptly returned the bottle to the shelf. She was looking for something with a bit more bite. She ran a finger along a label that read _Dragon Piss_ and almost smiled. Bull had made her promise she wouldn't open it without him, so that one was off limits. On a whim, she plucked a rather plain green bottle from the shelf and pulled the cork with her teeth before taking a long swallow.

Adaar choked and spluttered as the liquor burned its way down her throat. She gave a ragged gasp that left her coughing and turned the bottle, wiping at her streaming eyes so she could read the label. _Hirol's Lava Burst: It tastes like burning._

“Indeed,” Adaar managed to croak, giving the bottle an appreciative pat. Already, a pleasant warmth was spreading through her belly. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

Replacing the cork, Adaar left the cellar and started up the stairs. Just as she reached the door to the main hall, it swung open, revealing Dorian. Startled, the inquisitor jumped and nearly dropped the bottle. She cradled her prize against her chest and narrowed her eyes at the mage. Dorian beamed up at her, ignoring her look.

“Ah, there you are, and I see you've come prepared. But you should know, you're going the wrong way."

With that, he took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and began walking back down the stairs, pulling her along with him.

“I'm quite sure I know the way to my rooms, Dorian,” was Adaar's dry response. “So if you don't mind, I'll be on my way.”

“The inquisitor, drinking alone?” Dorian tutted. “What will people say? Think of the scandal.”

He placed his other hand over hers and gave an affectionate squeeze. He did not, Adaar noted, seem inclined to let go anytime soon.

“I'm a Vashoth mercenary leading an Andrastian organization. I'm already swimming in scandal.”

Dorian grinned at her, but a spark of concern flickered in his eyes. “Do I detect a note of pessimism, Inquisitor? Whatever happened to my unicorn?”

“Not pessimism,” Adaar muttered. “Realism.”

“A bit of advice? If you're going to start looking at the glass as half empty, make sure you drank the first half. Then, everything looks brighter.”

Adaar snorted and held up her bottle, giving it a shake and sloshing the liquid inside. “What did you think I was planning on doing?”

“Drinking isn't civilized unless other people can witness you make a fool of yourself.” Dorian's voice held too much amusement for Adaar's taste, and when he continued, she learned why. “However, you're in luck! I've managed to find plenty of witnesses.”

With a flourish and a little bow, the Tevinter pushed open a door, and led Adaar into the kitchen. “And here we are,” he called to the room.

Seated at the large central table was Varric shuffling a deck of cards. He smiled and waved her over. “You're just in time. I'll deal you in.”

Dorian gave her hand another squeeze before releasing her and taking his seat. Blinking at the assembled crowd, Adaar followed. Shokrakar flashed a wide grin and nodded to the empty chair next to her.

“Adaaaar!” Kaariss exclaimed happily. “We almost started without you.”

Shokrakar rolled her eyes. “You started hours ago.”

Kaariss appeared to ponder the validity of that statement before giving a decisive nod. “It's true,” he admitted after a moment. He shot an accusing look at the inquisitor. “You're late.”

“I suppose so,” Adaar murmured, doing a quick headcount.

It was quite the turnout. Of the Valo-kas, all but Ash, and Sata were present. She wasn't surprised that either were absent, really. Ashaad have never been much for gatherings, and Sata had barely spoken to her at all since they arrived.

She met Shokrakar's eyes in silent question and the older woman gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. With a pang, Adaar realized that things were worse with Sata than she had realized, but there was little she could do about it right then. She'd worry about that later, she decided. For now, she'd focus on the people who actually wanted her company.

Cassandra, Sera, Blackwall, and Cole completed the group. It was a rather large assembly for a game of cards, and once everyone was seated, Adaar asked, “What's the occasion?”

“See, that right there is why we're here,” Sera snorted. “We don't need an _occasion_ to have fun.”

“This is just a friendly game to break the ice,” Varric said as he began dealing out cards. “If we're going to be working together, we might as well get to know each other.”

“And drinking and cards are invaluable tools for getting to know someone,” Dorian chimed in. “Nothing brings people together like mutal bad decisions.”

Kaariss winked at Adaar and raised his cup. “To bad decisions!”

Adaar shook her head but smiled, the first real one since her trip to the Hissing Wastes. “I'm not sure that should be tonight's theme.”

“Agreed,” mumbled Cassandra.  
Sera pointed to the bottle in Adaar's lap. “That's because you've been holding that too long instead of drinking it.”

“It's a bottle, not a baby,” Shokrakar grunted. “Pass it this way if you don't know what to do with it.”

The inquisitor laughed and poured a decent amount into her own mug before handing the bottle to the older woman. She took a drink, knowing what to expect from the fiery liquor this time around, and sighed as the alcohol dissolved her remaining tension. The gleam in Sera's eyes should have warned her, as well as her knowing smirk, but Adaar was already in the process of taking another sip when the elf opened her mouth.

“That's right. You lot haven't actually met the inquisitor's baby.”

Adaar choked, clapping a hand to her mouth to keep from spraying liquor on Cassandra, who was seated across from her. “Sera!” she hissed, wishing the elf was close enough to kick.

Kaariss tilted his head in puzzlement. “You had a baby?” His lips curved in a wide smile. “Congratulations!”

“Oh, sure!” Sera continued in devilish delight. “Cute little guy, too, if you're in to that sort of thing. You ought to see him.”

Shokrakar's face was as dark as a stormcloud. “That bastard got a kid on you? And you didn't say anything?”

Dorian bit his lip in an effort to keep from laughing. “I suppose you could say Bull's his father. In a manner of speaking.”

Adaar turned to the Tevinter, eyes alight with betrayal that quickly changed to grim satisfaction as the mage jumped and stifled a pained yelp. He _was_ close enough to kick.

Cassandra glared at Sera and Dorian. “They are talking about a dog. A mabari pup, though I have heard him referred to as the inquisitor's baby.” She looked at Adaar and added, “He is terribly spoiled.”

Before Adaar could deny the accusation,Varric chuckled. “I'm sure Tiny will appreciate the clarification.”

“So there's no baby?” Kaariss looked vaguely disappointed.

“No,” Adaar said firmly. “There is no baby.”

Shokrakar sat back in her chair and drained her glass in one go. “Fuck, kid. Don't do that to me.”  
“Your face!” Katoh laughed. “You should have seen your face! Oh, that was good.”

There were murmurs of agreement among the rest of the group, and even Shokrakar admitted the joke was well-played. Any lingering tension among the group was gone after that, and as cards were gathered, the game began.

With the aid of alcohol and in the company of friends, Adaar felt herself relax. The first hand went well enough, and most of the conversation focused on questions about the Inquisition and the Valo-kas. As the mutual party to both groups, introductions fell to Adaar. When she got to Katoh, she sent Sera a warning look. The elf smirked, but before she could say anything, Adaar quickly moved on, introducing Kaariss, and the topic shifted to the the practice of magic under the Qun.

They played a few more hands, and by then, Adaar was decidedly tipsy. Looking around, she could see that many of her companions were in a similar state. Kaariss, having indulged before the game even started, was slumped in his chair trying to make sense of his upside-down cards. Taarlok stepped in to offer his assistance.

“You're supposed to discard this,” he sighed, tossing a card on the table. “That's the Angel of Death.”

“Is it?” Kaariss squinted at the offending card, swaying slightly. “I thought it looked rather like a bunny.”

A chorus of groans went up as one by one, everyone laid down their hands. While Varric determined a winner, Dorian looked over at Katoh.

“I could swear I've heard your name before,” he remarked. “Is it common among Tal-Vashoth?”

Katoh frowned. “I hope not.”

“It's the word,” Cole said, eager to help. “He gave it to her to break the binds, untangle the knots. He didn't know it was your word first.”

“Ah, yes. _That_ word,” Dorian laughed. He gave Adaar a knowing smile. “How could I forget?”

Katoh's face was a mask of confusion as she asked, “What word? Are we even talking about my name anymore?”

Sera howled with laughter, clutching her sides. “Watchword,” she gasped out. “It's her watchword.”

Adaar's face burned as all eyes turned to her. “Yes, it's a watchword, alright?” she snapped. “Not that it's anyone's business.”

Dorian's inquiry _might_ have been an honest slip, but Sera had been waiting days now for such an opportunity. She sent the elf a look that promised retribution, but Sera was too busy whispering to Katoh to notice. Katoh's eyes widened before both women dissolved into giggles.

“You say my name during sex?” she asked, ruby eyes dancing with mischief. “I don't know whether I'm flattered or disturbed.”

“It was only once,” Cole corrected. “It's better if-”

“By the fucking Void, Cole,” Adaar groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Stop helping. _Please_.”

“Can we please change the subject?” Cassandra sighed. “I already know more about the inquisitor's personal life than I ever wanted to.”

Sera snickered at the other woman's discomfort. “I thought uncovering the truth was your job, Seeker?”

“Some things should stay hidden, behind locked doors,” Cassandra replied with an arch look at Adaar.

“Heard about that, too.”

Before Sera could elaborate, the inquisitor interrupted with a curt, “I need another drink,” and stood.

“Allow me,” Varric smiled, refilling her glass. “Just relax, Inqusistor. You look fit to be tied.”

Adaar downed her drink amid roaring laughter, pressing the cool glass to her heated face. It continued, one bad pun after another, until Shokrakar came to her rescue, recounting tales of tamassrans that made anything she and Bull came up with seem mild in comparison. The teasing died off after that, and the game resumed.

A few hours later, Cassandra announced that she was going to bed. Adaar nodded goodnight to the Seeker, grabbing the edge of the table when that small motion sent the room spinning. Katoh took her leave soon after, and Sera's eyes followed the small qunari as she left the kitchen.

“She's grand,” the elf sighed happily, a goofy smile on her face. “Well, it's been fun, but I'm off.”

Over the next several minutes, the gathering slowly broke up as everyone went in search of their beds. In no hurry to navigate the large number of stairs between the kitchen and her own room, Adaar stayed put while Kaarris began composing his latest work, _The Ballad of Stubbins, the Three-Legged Nug._

He'd managed three verses before Shokrakar had enough.

“Come on, kid,” she said as she pulled Adaar to her feet. “Much more of this, and I'm going to rip my own ears off.”  
Adaar found the mental image of an earless Shokrakar terribly funny, and broke into a fit of helpless laughter. She would have collapsed to the floor were it not for the older woman's arm around her waist.

“Yeah,” the mercenary leader said dryly. “It's hilarious.” When that only made her charge laugh even harder, Shokrakar sighed. “Let's get you to bed.”

It took almost twenty minutes to get Adaar up the stairs, mostly due to the fact that halfway up, she sat down and declared she would stay the night where she was at. After a few minutes of arguing, Shokrakar had simply picked her up and carried her the rest of the way, into the main hall. This late at night, it was deserted. When she was on her feet again, Adaar slumped back against the wall.

“Hey, Raka,” she whispered loudly, making an exaggerated motion to wave the woman over. “I don't feel good.”

Shokrakar rolled her eyes and shook her head as she leaned down to pull the younger woman up again. “I love you kid, but if you puke on me, I'm kicking your ass tomorrow.”

They managed to make it up to the next floor without incident. As they entered Adaar's private quarters, candles were already lit and Bull was sitting on the divan, reading one of Varric's books. He looked over at the sound of the door.

“Here, help me get her up the stairs,” Shokrakar called.

As she was transferred to her lover's arms, Adaar smiled up at him, violet eyes unfocused. “Bullll!”

“Hey, Boss. Wild night, huh?”

“Put me down,” was her only response.

When Bull did, Adaar staggered to the balcony and promptly vomited over the side.

“Guess so,” Bull chuckled when she dragged herself back inside.

Adaar moaned as Shokrakar sat her on the bed and Bull started unlacing her boots. When he got her boots off, she lay back, asleep within moments.

Shokrakar watched her for a few minutes before turning to Bull. “Take care of her.”

“Always,” he promised.

The mercenary held his gaze for a long time before giving him a slow nod. “I'll hold you to that. I need to go get Kaariss,” she sighed. “He's probably still sitting in the kitchen.”  
The old mercenary started back down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to call over her shoulder, “Might want to find a bucket.”

Iron Bull laughed as he sat back down and picked up his book. He knew Adaar had been troubled ever since they'd dealt with the red templars, and he knew it had something to do with that messed up future she'd seen. He could be there for her, but he could never really understand what she'd went through while she was there. One night of getting shit-faced wasn't going to change anything, and it probably wasn't the best method of coping, but he wasn't going to begrudge her the chance to cut loose now and then.

She'd hate herself in the morning, though. Bull cast a sympathetic smile toward the bed and went back to reading. Adaar didn't look like she was going to be waking anytime soon, but when she did, he'd be there.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar deals with the painful repercussions of the previous night, and Shokrakar finds the Dragon's Tooth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for taking so long to get this chapter out. I bought a house this summer, so between that and moving, life has been pretty chaotic. There should be one final chapter after this, and I hope to have that one out in a much more timely manner.

Morning dawned, clear and cold, dragging a very reluctant Adaar from the comforting oblivion of slumber. The bright rays of the newly risen sun spilled across her face, sending a sharp stab of pain along her optic nerve that set her head to throbbing. A furrow formed in her brow as the qunari woman squeezed her eyes shut against the invasive light, but the action accomplished little more than intensifying the painful staccato taking place inside her skull. She gave the thick blanket a feeble tug in an effort to shield her from the merciless glare and sighed in relief when the furious pounding behind her eyes faded to a dull ache.

Adaar silently cursed the fool architect that decided her quarters needed more windows than walls. She considered spending the day curled up in the welcoming dim of her closet, but soon dismissed the idea. The slightest motion began the riot in her head anew, so she put all of her energy toward remaining as still as possible, huddled beneath the covers in a heap of misery.

Bits and pieces of the previous night's adventures came back to her, though a great deal remained alarmingly vague. She remembered drinking and cards, an idiotic attempt to keep pace with Shokrakar... and that she was never going to be able to look Katoh in the eye again, and wasn't that just her luck? The one detail she wouldn't mind losing in a drunken haze was as vivid as it had been there in the kitchen. Adaar's face heated at the memory. Katoh wasn't the sort to let something go when she could use it to her advantage. And next time, Adaar couldn't count on Cassandra being there to change the subject.

The creak of her door broke the inquisitor out of her musing. She could tell care had been taken to keep the noise to a minimum, but the sudden break in silence still set her teeth on edge. A muffled thump followed as the door closed, and then the familiar rhythmic clicking of canine claws against stone, accompanied by Bull's heavier tread as they ascended the stairs.

As he caught sight of the occupied bed, Ataashi's pace quickened. Bull hissed a warning, but it came too late as the eager puppy bounded towards his mistress. The mabari leapt onto the bed, and Adaar moaned, assailed by a wave of dizziness as the mattress bounced under the impact. She clutched the covers to her more tightly, attempting to anchor herself against the onslaught of her overly excited mabari.

Her actions only seemed to encourage the pup.

Ataashi trotted along the length of the bed as he looked for an opening. He butted his head against one of Adaar's horns and nosed at the shock of white hair visible against her pillow, making snuffling sounds as he tried to extract his mistress from beneath the mound of bedding.

The puppy's enthusiastic nudges were beginning to have an effect on Adaar's stomach, and fearing its inevitable revolt if he continued, the qunari woman gave in and lifted a corner of the blanket in silent invitation.

With a happy snort, the puppy wriggled under the heavy fabric until he was stretched out beside her. He gave her face a gentle lick and stilled, releasing a huff of contentment.

Adaar could just make out the gleam of his eyes as they watched her from beneath the covers. He squirmed when he realized he had her attention, inching closer on his belly, until they were nose to nose. Unable to help herself, Adaar smiled down at the puppy, stroking the silky fur between his pointed ears.

A masculine chuckle reminded the inquisitor that Ataashi was not the only one in the room.

“Sorry, Kadan,” came Bull's quiet apology. “Didn't mean to wake you just yet, but the little shit got away before I could stop him.” The bed dipped as Bull eased down beside her, one large hand settling on the curve of her hip. “He missed you.”

“Missed you, too, brat,” she mumbled, patting the puppy fondly.

Adaar winced as her admission sent the mabari into another round of ecstatic wriggling and face licking. She gave the pup a weak push, but the mabari was not to be deterred. The inquisitor let out a helpless laugh that quickly changed to a muffled groan as the pounding in her temples once again declared its presence.

Iron Bull scooped up the mabari with a deft hand and set him on the floor. Ataashi looked less than pleased with the interruption to reuniting with his mistress and whined before moving to climb back on the bed.

“That's enough, Runt.”

The puppy stared at Bull, large eyes turned woeful. The qunari stared back. Defeated, Ataashi heaved a great sigh and deliberately turned his back on Bull, settling on the floor with his head between his paws.

Adaar sighed in relief at the sudden stillness, withdrawing into the warm sanctuary of her nest of blankets as she waited for the pain to ease to a more tolerable level.

“You okay, Kadan?” Bull's voice was laced with concern, but Adaar didn't think she imagined the undercurrent of amusement that said he already knew the answer.

She shifted the blanket just enough to glare at her lover and accuse,“You think this is funny!”

Bull met her gaze and his answering smile was kind, but unapologetic. “Well, a little,” he agreed. “Woke up like that too many times not to. At least you still have your pants.” He moved to pour out a glass of water from the ewer on the side table and held it out to her.

Adaar's answering laugh turned into a wince. She eased herself upright and leaned back against the headboard, accepting the water and murmuring her thanks.“Your pants?” she asked, taking a small sip. “Do I even want to know?”

“The Chargers had just finished up a job – some whining noble, real pain-in-the-ass. Anyway, we were celebrating and things got carried away. Krem and Dalish did some decorating. Wrapped this flowery vine shit all around my horns and stole my pants. When I finally found them, they were covered in flowers. Krem had _sewn_ the damn things on. Took me forever to pick all of them off.”

“Decorating the Bull,” Adaar teased. “It sounds like it should be some sort of annual tradition. Add some ribbons and the kids can dance around you.”

“Oh, Giselle would just love that.”

Adaar snorted. “All the more reason to do it. The Inquisition was founded on pissing off the Chantry – no reason to stop now.”

She really had liked the Chantry Mother in the beginning, but her relationship with the cleric had been strained ever since she'd refused to aid her in deceiving Dorian. Mother Giselle did not approve of the Tevinter's involvement with the Inquisition, nor was she pleased with the inquisitor's insistence that his involvement continue. That was fine, Adaar had assured her. Giselle was free to sigh and shake her head as much as she liked from her corner in the garden, but further attempts to remove anyone from Skyhold would not be tolerated.

Iron Bull reached out a finger to stroke along the crease that had formed in between her brows, and Adaar relaxed at the subtle admonition, putting the Chantry and Mother Giselle from her mind. She took his large hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the palm. Noticing the teasing quirk to his brow, Adaar spoke before he could remark on the softness of her gesture.

“You could have joined us last night, you know. I think most of them were expecting you anyway.”

“Nah, I would have just made shit awkward.”

“And that suddenly bothers you?” Adaar laughed. “I'll be sure to let Dorian and Cassandra know.”

“That's different,” Bull grinned. “Awkward can be a good thing if it gets those two out of their heads for a bit, but it would have just made things tense for you. Last night was the first chance you've really had to connect with the life and people you had before all of this. That wasn't going to happen with the spy hanging around.”

“ _Former_ spy,” Adaar grumbled, and then inwardly winced at the tactless reminder of the big qunari's change in status.

“Former spy,” Bull agreed. If her careless comment bothered him, he gave no indication and continued, “Still, it wasn't all that long ago I'd have been expected to report a group of Tal-Vashoth. You and I know that's not gonna happen, but I can't say I blame them for being cautious.”

She wanted to ask if he really would have reported them, but stopped herself before the words could leave her lips. What the Ben Hassrath expected of Bull, and what Bull actually did were not always the same thing, even before the failed attempt at an alliance. Besides, it was a moot point anyway. Had the Inquisition actually allied with the Qun, Adaar would have done whatever it took to keep the Valo-kas safely away, and that was assuming they wanted anything to do with her after that.

“They'll come around,” she said at last. “Eventually, they'll see that you aren't a threat to them.”

“You think so?”

Adaar nodded. “I do.”

“Well, they've got plenty of time. I'm not going anywhere, Kadan.” He suddenly flashed her a lewd grin, his eye raking over her now blanketless form. “And if you don't get out of bed soon, neither are you.”

With a rueful smile, Adaar shook her head. “I'm supposed to meet with Cullen later and go over some new intel. He thinks we might have a way to completely cut off the red lyrium supply.”

Bull nodded his approval. “No lyrium, and we take out those templar assholes for good.”

“That's the plan,” Adaar said.

She gave the Iron Bull a quick kiss and reluctantly got to her feet, in search of fresh clothing. Bull also stood. As he passed her on his way to the stairs, one large hand came down in a stinging slap on her rump. “Better let you get to it, Boss.”

Adaar jerked at the contact and spun around to scowl at her lover. “Asshole,” she muttered, rubbing her abused posterior. Despite her tone, the twitching at the corners of her mouth removed any real heat from the insult.

“So I'm told,” Bull replied with a smirk and a wave as he descended the stairs. Ataashi, having apparently forgotten his earlier ire with the qunari, followed eagerly at his heels.

Adaar watched them go, and only after she heard the door below open and then close again did she give in to the smile still tugging at her lips.

 

******

 

It was late in the afternoon before Adaar was finished with her various duties for the day. The meeting with Cullen had went well; they'd made tentative plans to travel to Emprise du Lion, as all reports indicated a great deal of red templar activity in the area. Scout Harding and a handful of Leliana's agents had already left for the Dales and once inquisition forces had set up a base of operations, Adaar and her team would follow. Not the most elaborate of plans, by any means, but the inquisitor had learned that less detail meant more flexibility when everything inevitably fell apart.

The sun was a golden disc, low but still bright, and as she stepped into the dappled courtyard without pain, Adaar reminded herself to thank Stitches again for the herbs he'd been kind enough to provide. In addition to his skill in patching up wounded Chargers, the healer brewed a tea that bordered on miraculous in its ability to cure even the worst hangover. Considering that the Inquisition gained back most of the Chargers' exhorbitant fee through the tavern, she shouldn't have been surprised. Before she could think too deeply on the matter, a cheer rang out across the courtyard, directing Adaar's attention to the training yard.

Quite a crowd had gathered around the sparring ring, and Adaar could see a tall light-haired man with a scruffy beard squared off against a shorter man with a swarthy complexion. The two were trading blows with dulled practice blades while a small but exuberant crowd looked on. Amidst the spectators, Adaar was able to pick out several familiar faces. Cullen critiqued with an enthusiasm the commander never showed inside the war room, and Iron Bull and Krem appeared to be placing wagers on who would win the match. Cassandra watched without comment, only to sigh and shake her head when one of the soldiers managed to land a hit that should have been easily blocked. Shokrakar and Ashaad were outside the bulk of the mostly human group, leaning casually against a wall, eyes fixed on the ring.

When Shokrakar caught sight of Adaar, the older woman waved her over. “How's the head, Kid?” she asked by way of greeting.

“Just fine,” Adaar responded with a smug grin. There was no need to let the mercenary know that 'fine' was a recent development. From the hazy fragments of her memories of the night before, Shokrakar had plenty to tease her with already. There was no reason to hand over ammunition that was sure to be used against her.

“Good,” the mercenary smirked. “Maybe there's hope for you yet.” Before Adaar could huff her offense at the jab, Shokrokar lifted her chin toward the sparring soldiers. “You've done good work here, Kid. Humans'll fight over anything. Good on you for pointing them at something useful for once.”

Ashaad remained silent, but his look of pride spoke volumes.

Adaar warmed at the praise from her former mentors but kept her face neutral. “There are plenty of people who deserve their share of credit for the progress of the Inquisition. It wasn't just me.”

“Even so. It's you they look to.”

Adaar wasn't sure how to answer. While it was nice to be recognized for her own contribution, it also served as an uncomfortable reminder of the huge responsibility she carried. Hundreds had poured their sweat and blood into the inquisition, and the organization would not exist without their efforts, but the burden of leadership was hers alone.

There was a sudden loud grunt from one of the sparring soldiers and Addar looked up to see that the smaller man had managed to disarm his fair-haired opponent. With good humor, the unarmed man inclined his head to indicate he yielded, and the crowd of spectators cheered as the shorter man gave his partner a friendly slap on the back.

“Well done!” Cullen called as the two exited the ring.

“Come on, Kid,” Shokrakar said as she tugged at Adaar's arm and started toward the ring. Let's have some fun.”

“I'd really rather not,” Adaar began, but it did nothing to slow the larger woman's stride.

“What's the matter?” One corner of Shokrakar's lips lifted in a taunting smirk. “Too much time sitting on your ass giving orders?”

“Less than you might think,” Adaar muttered. She rubbed at her shoulder, the phantom ache of bruises and welts long since healed flaring to life at the mere thought of a sparring session with the old mercenary.

Shokrakar had the advantage in weight, reach, and experience, and that wasn't even taking into consideration the vast difference in their respective fighting styles. Adaar's preferred weapon had no place in a friendly match, and unless the goal was to maim or kill, daggers weren't very effective against a greatsword. Her strengths lay in stealth and the element of suprise. Neither applied here.

She'd sparred with Shokrakar in the past, and more recently, Bull. Both qunari had similar enough styles, with one major exception: Bull held back. It didn't matter who he was sparring with, he never used his full strength for fear of accidently injuring someone. Shokrakar probably didn't either, but she was fond of using matches as teaching opportunities. The mercenary leader wouldn't actually hurt her partner, but she was very good at leading them to believe that was her intent. The world was cruel, especially to Tal-Vashoth, and pretending otherwise wasn't going to do anyone any favors.

“I suppose you'll tell me this is good for morale,” Adaar commented as she selected a pair of dull-edged daggers. “That seems to be a popular reason for all sorts of nonsense around here.”

“Good for _my_ morale, at least,” Shokrakar laughed. The mercenary crossed to one side of the ring and took a few practice swings with her sword. Though the training blade was smaller than her normal weapon, she still handled the large blade with ridiculous ease. “I'm just keeping you on your toes, Kid.”

“You know, there's an insane magister on the loose trying to become a god. I think he's got that covered.”

As she got into position, Adaar noticed that they now had the full attention of the crowd. Bull caught her eye and a lazy smile spread over his face. The inquisitor gave an inward groan. _Nothing like getting your ass kicked in front of an audience._

Without warning, Shokrakar lunged, and Adaar barely had time to dodge. She managed to twist to the side just in time to avoid the blow. Cursing her lack of focus, the inquisitor brought her daggers up in front of her and slowly circled her adversary, eyes searching out any weakness she might exploit to her advantage.

The trick to melee combat, she had decided long ago, was to avoid it. Barring that, her usual tactics were to sneak in and strike at a vital spot as quickly and quietly as possible before ducking back out to a safe distance. Adverse as she was to using poison, this method was time consuming, but eventually, even dragons could be worn down in this manner. Since she wasn't actually planning on mortally wounding Shokrakar, her usual tactics were worthless. The best she could hope for was to dance around, avoiding attack, and hope that the other woman tired before she did.

She gave a couple experimental swipes with her daggers, probing for an opening. Shokrakar grinned and swatted her blades away, causing Adaar to grit her teeth as the impact reverberated up her arm. Only by years of practice did she avoid dropping her weapons.

Even though it wasn't technically a real fight, Adaar's instincts soon took over. As the minutes rolled by, her attention narrowed to the woman in front of her. The crowd and the raucous cheers it produced faded away as the whole of the world shrunk to the diameter of the sparring ring. Sweat stung her eyes, and her muscles burned with the pleasant heat of exertion.

She'd been holding her own rather well, so it came as a complete surprise when she went to parry a blow, overextended, and found herself knocked flat on her back by Shokrakar's counter. Dazed, Adaar stayed still, taking a moment to catch her breath.

“What the fuck was that, Kid?” Shokrakar asked, coming to stand over her. “You left yourself wide open.”

Adaar gave her head a sharp shake to clear it and took hold of Shokrakar's proffered hand, allowing the other woman to pull her to her feet. “Next time you want a test of skill, we're holding an archery contest,” she grumbled. She smiled at the onlookers, determined to accept her loss gracefully. Bull heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head in mock disappointment, though she could see the grin he was biting back. With a glare, Adaar made a discreet gesture that suggested he attempt something most likely physically impossible to do to one's self and left the circle with Shokrakar. They walked a short distance away, where they could hear each other over the crowd.

“Nice job,” the old mercenary said, throwing an arm around Adaar's shoulders. “Pay more attention next time, and you might actually beat me.”

Adaar snorted. “If that had been an actual fight, you never would have seen me coming.”

There was no response from the mercenary, and Adaar saw that Shokrakar's wasn't even listening to what she had said, all her attention now focused somewhere on Adaar's chest. Looking down, Adaar caught the dull gleam of her half of the dragon tooth pendant she'd given to Bull all those months ago.  
She normally kept it tucked beneath her shirt to prevent it from getting lost or grabbed while she was fighting, but it must have come loose.

“What's this, then?” Shokrakar asked quietly. The shrewdness in her amber eyes said she knew exactly what it was, and Adaar resisted the urge to touch the tooth self-consciously.

“It's a dragon's tooth,” she hedged. It wasn't that Adaar wanted to hide the pendant and what it symbolized, but this was...private, something intimate between her and Bull that went beyond raunchy jokes about their sexual practices. This was for them alone, and she wasn't going to discuss it.

Noticing the stubborn expression of her former charge, Shokrakar nodded once, as though to herself and looked away. “You know, no one really does that anymore,” she began. “You hear about it, but the Qun tends to frown on that sort of thing. Not to mention, a dragon's tooth isn't the easiest thing to get ahold of. He told you about it? What it means?”

Adaar nodded. “I think he was as surprised as you when I actually came back with one.”

“So you gave it to him.”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Shokrakar was quiet for so long Adaar was left wondering if the moment she feared had finally arrived. Now that her former leader knew the extent of her realtionship with the Iron Bull, now that there was proof this was not just some passing fling, was it something Shokrakar would be able to truly accept?

“Raka...”

Shokrakar gave Adaar's shoulder a brief squeeze - the height of affection, coming from the gruff mercenary. “We're good, Kid.”

“You're really okay with this?” Adaar asked, unable to keep the hint of doubt from her voice.

“I always said you worried too much,” Shokrakar laughed. “If he's who you want, I'll back off. I'm not saying I won't give him shit, 'cause come on. But you won't hear another word about it.”

Relief soared through Adaar. There would be no need to choose between the man she loved and the two people who were, for all intents and purposes, her parents.

“I need a drink,” Shokrakar announced. She gave a wide grin that tugged at the heavy scarring around her mouth. “You're buying.”

“ _I'm_ buying?”

“You owe me one, Kid.”

“You just knocked me on my ass in the dirt – in front of my commander and several soldiers, I might add – and _I_ owe _you_ a drink?” Adaar laughed incredulously. “You're charging me now?”

Shokrakar waved to get Ashaad's attention from where he still waited by the ring and started walking toward the tavern.“Knocking you on your ass is always free,” she called back.

Adaar shook her head and hurried to catch up. “Then what exactly do I owe you for?”

“Carrying your ass up two flights of stairs last night.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar and Sata finally have a confrontation, and Varric gets a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry it took this long for me to finish this. Inspiration abandoned me, and then Fallout 4 came out, and that's pretty much where I've stayed since. But this is it, the final chapter. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope anyone still reading enjoys!

Despite their initial cold reception, it was only a matter of weeks before the people of Skyhold grudgingly accepted the presence of the Valo-kas. Though Adaar remained firm in her stance that the Inquisition was open to everyone, the success of getting that message across was due, in no small part, to her advisors.

While the inquisitor did her best to acknowedge the contributions of all, it was no secret that their organization would not even exist without the efforts of a select few. The open support of Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine went a long way in quelling any direct animosity, and each made it known that they had neither time nor patience for petty complaints.

Leliana was less direct in her methods, but Adaar depended on her eyes and ears to stay informed of any potential problems before they escalated. It was her spymaster that suggested integrating the Valo-kas into formal missions. Often, they were too large a group to send together, but it became common to see a member or two accompanying a unit of soldiers or mages, and Scout Harding had nothing but praise for Ash's abilities in the field.

Josephine welcomed Taarlok's skill with numbers, and gradually, the old qunari took over more and more of the formal book-keeping, allowing the ambassador more time to engage in the daily politicking that came with hosting half a dozen various nobles at any given time.

It wasn't all smooth sailing. Vivienne and Cullen both objected, loudly, to Kaariss's offer to work with the Circle mages, and Adaar subjected herself to more than one heated argument when she allowed the mage to help train a group of young apprentices. Magic was magic, she argued, regardless of who was wielding it. Considering what they were up against, adding diversity to their tactics could only be a good thing, in her opinion. They could sort the rest out once Corypheus was defeated. Seeing that she would not be budged, neither Vivienne or Cullen said anything further, though Adaar noted that both attended every one of these training sessions, twin gazes as fixed and fierce as a hawk searching for weakness in potential prey.

It was unsettling, at first, but as long as it went no further than watching, she couldn't really fault them for their caution. While Adaar didn't believe it was enough to justify the treament of mages in general, one had only to look at the sky to see that magic in the wrong hands was dangerous.

The irony that that very danger was the driving force behind so many different people of various backgrounds more or less getting along was not lost on the inquisitor, but she found herself grateful for small favors. She still had duties that often kept her away from Skyhold, and it was easier to leave when she needed to knowing that there wasn't likely to be some kind of diplomatic incident – or worse- while she was gone. Having the Valo-kas with her at Skyhold was a comfort Adaar had come to rely on, and seeing them carve out a place for themselves among the Inquisition provided her with a peace of mind that was all too rare these days. That delicate peace threatened to shatter when Adaar found Sata and a chantry sister arguing in the garden one morning.

The gardens were normally quiet, a place of tranquil reflection as well as utility, so it was alarming to hear raised voices coming from within. Adaar hurried forward, violet eyes sweeping the yard as she took in the situation.

Sata and one of the clerics that tended the garden were standing near the the makeshift chapel, chattering like two angry magpies. Even from her distance, the inquisitor could see Sata roll her eyes skyward as she threw her arms up in disgust. The cleric flinched at the sharp motion, but held her ground, fingers clasping nervously at the folds of her thick robes.

“What's going on here?” Adaar asked, voice sharp as she approached the pair. Disputes were nothing new, but most of Skyhold knew by now that the inquisitor had no tolerance for squabbles.

Sata glanced over at the intrusion, eyes narrowed in irritation as she saw just who had interrupted them. Her lip curled into a sneer as she waved a hand toward the human woman.

“Your chantry girl won't let me in,” she said in a quiet snarl, lifting her chin toward the chapel door. “Says that place isn't for godless heathens like us.”

“I _said_ it was for Andraste's faithful, Your Worship,” the sister corrected quickly, eyes darting to Adaar's face before looking down. “The Blessed Prophet is to be revered, not gawked at.”

The inquisitor bit back an annoyed sigh. Things had been much simpler when the Chantry saw the Inquisition as heretic rebels. She practiced no particular faith herself, but considering that a large percentage of the Inquisition's population was Andrastian, Adaar had felt it prudent to at least familiarize herself with the core tenets of the religion. That bit of foresight had served her well, on more than one occasion.

“Wasn't it the elves who aided Andraste in her fight against the Imperium?” Adaar remarked, keeping her tone casual. “I can't imagine she would consider something as simple as a qunari gazing at her likeness offensive. Especially one aiding her cause.”

That was not strictly true. The Inquisition was not officially a religious organization, but that had never stopped anyone else from claiming such nonsense.

The sister hunched her shoulders, face pinched in distaste. “I- I suppose not, Your Worship. Forgive me, I...have duties I must attend.” She gave a stiff bow towards the inquisitor and spun on her heel, robes flapping around her ankles as she hurried away.

Adaar bit her lip to hold back a smile. The poor sister looked like she couldn't get away fast enough.

“Sorry,” she said, turning toward Sata. “Did you really want to go in?”

“Forget it,” Sata muttered. “I only wanted to see the reason Sataa, Hissra, and Meraad are dead, but I guess it doesn't actually matter, does it? They're gone, all the same.”

She turned to leave, but Adaar was faster and stepped in front of her.

“Sata, wait! Please.”

“What do you want, Adaar?” The other qunari's voice was hard, but she didn't try to walk around her, so Adaar took that as progress.

“I just want to talk,” she said earnestly, raising her hands in a placating manner. “Whatever this is between us... I don't like it, Sata. I'm sorry about that job. I really am.”

“It's not about the job,” Sata scoffed. “It's about you jumping in with the people that killed them!”

Adaar was prepared to apologize for her role in what happened, despite coming to accept that it really hadn't been her fault. She was not however, prepared for that particular accusation. Heat flushed her cheeks as her eyes narrowed in anger.

Blaming all humans for the actions of a mob was the same mentality that had gotten their friends killed. It was the same way the Qun looked at those who lived outside of their philosophy, and it was a very large part of the problem that had landed in her lap and been seared into her hand when she picked up that orb at the conclave.

“I didn't,” she said through clenched teeth. “They're good people, Sata, and all most of them want is for the world to be safe again so they can go back home and move on with their lives. Not one of them had anything to do with what happened!”

“They might not have struck the blow, but I've seen the way they look at us. Don't think they wouldn't if they had half a chance.”

There was a familiar tilt to Sata's lips that Adaar recognized, a stubborn set to her jaw. She would get no where arguing with her like this, and continuing to try would only anger the other woman further.

She gave a shake of her head and lifted her shoulders in a shrug of defeat. “I understand your anger, and I'm not saying you're wrong for being angry. I've got the mark to protect me, and I've still heard all the usual slurs. But going on like this will solve nothing. You're making the same assumptions those fanatics did, the same assumptions that got Hissra, Meraad, and Sataa killed.”

Adaar saw Sata stiffen, the other qunari's mouth falling open as though she'd been slapped. It pained her to do so, but she said nothing further and walked away, leaving the other woman staring after her in shock.

As Adaar went about her routine, her mind replayed the argument with Sata over and over again. Regret gnawed at her. She'd thought of at least ten different ways she could have handled the matter before it escalated, but any ideas on how she might salvage the ragged tatters of their friendship were frustratingly absent.

Her expression must have reflected her mood, because she saw more than one person appear as though they were going to approach her, only to change their mind at the last minute and settle for a polite nod of greeting instead. Adaar heaved a sigh, wanting nothing more than the solitude of her quarters.

_Well, why not?_

There was nothing pressing at the moment, and if something urgent came up, it wasn't as though no one knew where to find her. Mind made up, Adaar headed for the great hall.

“I've heard frowning gives you wrinkles,” a voice broke into her thoughts. “But when you do it, I think it just scares people.”

“Varric,” Adaar greeted, forcing a smile for the dwarf. “Did you need something?”

“Me? No,” Varric shook his head, a grin spreading across his rugged features. “But I'd love to hear the story behind whatever put that look on your face.”

Smile turning genuine, Adaar let out a short laugh. “It's nothing, Varric. I'm fine.”

“And that's why you're shit at playing cards, Inquisitor.”

“I'm not that bad!” Adaar protested, crossing her arms over her chest in mock offense. “I think I do rather well.”

“You know how to cheat, I'll give you that. But bluffing?” the dwarf shook his head sadly. “Hopeless.”

“You're starting to sound like Bull,” Adaar sighed. “It's just...family,” she offered, hoping he would leave it at that.

“Ah. Say no more. Unless..there aren't by chance any lyrium idols involved in this story are there?” His tone was joking but Adaar caught a glimpse of something haunted in his eyes as he said it.

“Not that I'm aware of.”

“In that case, I'm sure you'll work things out.”

“Thanks, Varric.” It wasn't much, as far as pep talks went, but oddly enough, she did feel better. No company made it very far without the occasional spat, and the familial dynamic of the Valo-kas just meant that their spats were that much messier. They'd been through worse, and come out stronger for it in the end. She could only hope this time would prove no different.

“You know what we need?” Varric asked, and continued before she could respond. “A celebration.”

“And what exactly are we celebrating? Corypheus is still out there, alive and well.”

“And yet, so are we. Seems to me like that's as good a reason as any. And that kind of thing works wonders for morale.”

“Now I _know_ you've been talking to Bull,” Adaar sighed. “He and Krem use always use morale in an attempt to get away with whatever crazy scheme they've come up with.”

“Oh, I don't know. I think catapulting toy nugs over the battlements was a great idea. I can't really predict what kind of effect it would have had, but I'm certain there would have been one.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. But you're forgetting one thing, Varric: how am I going to get Josephine to agree to more 'unnecessary expenses'?”

“Leave Ruffles to me,” Varric laughed. “Trust me. I'll take care of everything.”

A few days went by, but true to his word, Varric got his celebration, held in honor, Josephine declared, of the men and women who had devoted their time, resources, and very lives in service of the Inquisition.

The courtyard was cleared of any remaining debris and a large pile of wood laid in the center in preparation for a bonfire. All day, the cooks and servants bustled back and forth arranging tables along the stone walls. Chairs and benches were moved in a circle around the fire pit, until it seemed like every bit of furniture from the hall had been moved outside.

An air of anticipation had spread throughout the keep, happy faces speaking in excited whispers, and Adaar had to admit that there might have been something to Varric's claims about boosting morale.

As night fell over Skyhold, the fire was lit, bathing the courtyard in flickering hues of orange and gold. Everyone was invited, and from what she could see, every soul in the old fortress had made an appearance.

Adaar crossed the yard to the tables, now laden with an assortment of dishes, and stepped beside Bull.

“Somehow, I knew this is where I'd find you,” she murmured fondly, slipping her arms around him.

“I don't know about that, Kadan,” he joked, smiling down at her. “A few more minutes and I'd have been over there.” Bull pointed to a corner where several large casks sat.

“That would have been my next guess.” Adaar released him and began filling her own plate before adding “If nothing else, you tend to stand out in a crowd.”

They carried their plates over to an empty bench and sat down. It wasn't long before Krem and the rest of the Chargers joined them, and the Valo-kas soon followed. When all the available seating was taken, they sat on the ground, filling in what space they could find.

Adaar greeted each one with a smile, laughing as she found herself constantly shuffling around to make room. The din of so many voices speaking at once filled her ears, but she could only sigh in contentment, the tension of the last few weeks melting away. She'd have to thank Varric later.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, Maryden stepped out of the crowd, lute in hand. Following her were two men with rough but well tended instruments. As one, the trio struck up a lively tune, and within a few moments, people were pairing off for dancing.

Adaar laughed, nudging Bull and pointing when she saw Sera. The little elf was dragging a very reluctant Katoh towards the music. The qunari woman seemed uncertain, an expression Adaar was sure she'd never seen on her face before, but it changed to a wide grin as Sera began what she assumed was some sort of Ferelden dance, trying to get Katoh to mimic the steps.

Shaking her head in amusement, Adaar leaned against Bull, listening as the Chargers and Valo-kas exchanged stories about their most outlandish jobs. It quickly turned into a competition of sorts between Krem and Kaariss, each tale growing wilder and more exaggerated until she knew they were just making things up.

She certainly didn't remember Shokrakar tricking a rage demon into following her into a lake, nor was Adaar convinced that that was the best way to defeat them. And if Bull had ever tamed a dragonling to ride into battle against a giant, she would have heard that story ten times over by now. For their part, Bull and Shokrakar seemed to enjoy the fabricated tales of their heroics, weaving in small details in an effort to outdo one another. This went on for some time, until Dalish declared that this was a matter that could only be settled in the field.

As the assembled mercenaries argued over when and where this test of strength would take place, Adaar slipped away for another drink. When she returned with two full mugs, handing one to Bull as he laughingly agreed to whatever arrangements had been made, she caught Sata's gaze on her.

The other woman offered a small smile as she met her eyes, raising her glass in salute. Adaar returned the gesture, knowing it was the closest thing to an apology Sata would give. With her heart lighter than she could remember in a long time, Adaar returned her attention to the conversation between the two companies.

She was quiet for the most part, content to drink in the smiling faces around her. For all the noise, it brought a peace she hadn't known since waking up in Haven.

“You've got a good group, Kadan,” Bull complimented. “One day, they might even give the Chargers a run for their gold. Maybe.”

Adaar laughed, swatting his arm.“Ass.”

Bull's smirk softened. “Seriously, though. It's nice to see our kind doing well for themselves. I'm glad I got the chance to meet them, even if that little one is crazy.”

“They're all crazy, Bull,” Adaar snorted, a soft smile curving her lips. “They're a crazy bunch of assholes, but they're mine.”


End file.
